


my treat

by roasthoney



Category: GOT7
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, idolverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22155484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roasthoney/pseuds/roasthoney
Summary: Mark's face stays thoughtful but inside he snickers, trying his hardest to not let the giggle in his throat escape. They eat and time with just them two seems to pass by in an easygoing flash. It's like a secret they discovered a few years in. An unexpected sort of pair — the youngest, and the eldest, who bicker and fight and play boisterous with everyone else, but when they're together there's a rare kind of harmony.
Relationships: Kim Yugyeom/Mark Tuan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86





	my treat

**Author's Note:**

> because the world needs more markgyeom. dynamic modeled after the princess bride (as you wish) and holes (i can fix that).

Yugyeom is sweet. There's no doubt in that statement to anyone he meets. A golden retriever come to life. A youthful boy who bounces on his heels when something excites him, who believes the best in everyone he meets. It's landed him in some sticky situations — because sometimes people disappoint, sometimes they act different from how they really are. They want sweetness without giving any of it themselves.

Mark is not so sweet. At least, he thinks so. He _looks_ sweet with his handsome face, his bright smile, but looks can be deceiving. It's not that he's bitter, or two sided, but that there's a solid base and an untrusting, discerning, eye beneath it all. He knows what people's intentions usually are. He watches, quiet, and notices moments of greed, of pride, and tucks them away in his memory. He can be stubborn himself (more than all of the other boys, truthfully) and quick to anger. 

Yugyeom forgives in an instant. And for as long as Mark's known him, his emotions play out blithe and trusting on his sleeve. He doesn't _think_ the way that cunning people do — he's not stupid, or foolish, by any means, but he's positive. Naturally, effortlessly. 

And that is something enchanting.

"Oooooh." Yugyeom's awed voice echoes in the practice room. He wanted to practice late at night and Mark came with him for company, since everyone else was too busy to take up on Yugyeom's offer.

"Look at this hyung. Isn't that cool? _Stylish_?" Mark peers over. On Yugyeom's phone screen is a pair of flower shaped studs. "They're not dandelions but they look kind of similar." 

Mark nods in agreement. "If you wear one of those, and a star one, that's your dandelion." He traces the shape of Yugyeom's dandelion, softened by the barrier of flannel between fingertip and skin. Yugyeom lights up. "That's genius, hyung," he says as if Mark's somehow discovered the secrets of the universe. 

That's the thing, being around Yugyeom. Mark never feels inadequate. Never too quiet, or too restrained. He just is. 

Yugyeom hos and hums about the price of it, and then quickly gets distracted by the time and the realization that he still has more to practice to meet his goal for the day. Instead of watching (which Mark likes to do, often, always awed at the way Yugyeom transforms from gangly gentle giant to fluid sensuality) he does some quick searching, reviewing, and places an order.

It comes a few days later. Mark tosses it onto at Yugyeom when he visits and settles down on the couch next to him. Yugyeom makes a very good headrest — comfy and just the right height. 

"What's this?" Yugyeom asks, puzzled, unwrapping it with the same pure enthusiasm and curiosity he gives to all of his gifts, big or small. 

"Shhh," Mark hums, eyes on the movie starting in front of them. "Quiet time."

Ever obedient, Yugyeom happily complies. He even waits until the end of the movie to whisper, quiet but brimming with joy, the tip of his nose brushing Mark's cheek, "thanks, hyung." 

Mark shrugs it off. "My treat."

—

Yugyeom is a man on a mission. He's _determined_. When he sets his mind to it, he can get things _done_. However, he's also painfully easy to read because his eyebrows get set and his cheeks puff up, so when he drags Mark to an expensive barbecue restaurant, Mark has his suspicions.

"Order whatever you want, hyung!" he chirps, flipping through the pages but obviously not reading because he's looking right at Mark.

"Hm." He pretends to think. "What about hanwoo beef, grade 1++?" 

Yugyeom pales. That's the most expensive grade of beef available. Yugyeom might have money now, but he's not easily a big spender like BamBam or Mark, the fiscally responsible lessons from his parents still ingrained. "Ah — yeah, I said whatever you want!" He stutters but continues on, determined. 

Mark's face stays thoughtful but inside he snickers, trying his hardest to not let the giggle in his throat escape. They eat and time with just them two seems to pass by in an easygoing flash. It's like a secret they discovered a few years in. An unexpected sort of pair — the youngest, and the eldest, who bicker and fight and play boisterous with everyone else, but when they're together there's a rare kind of harmony.

Once the timing seems right, Yugyeom plays his grand reveal with pride. How sneaky, how well played! "I'm going to pay. This is my treat to you." 

Mark smiles, bemused. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really!" Yugyeom insists. "I'll even fight you if you try to take the check. I swear," he says, solemn. 

"Wow. That's violent, Gyeomie," Mark replies, deadpan.

"Well, sometimes I have to be," Yugyeom puffs back, crossing his arms.

"Too bad I already paid."

"What?" Yugyeom bursts out, jaw dropping, "I've been watching you like a _hawk_."

Mark shrugs and grins. "I faked that phone call." 

Yugyeom's whines and slumps down into his chair. "You said that was an _emergency._ " 

"And you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker." Mark snickers and repeats, his voice final. " _My_ treat."

—

Mark is a patient man. He knows this, and the fact is that it won't change. It's something in his nature, or blood maybe. But sometimes — it really gets tested. Like this time. When he invited Yugyeom, _just Yugyeom_ , to the waterpark with him for a tentative first step towards a first something (he refuses to call it a date), and here he shows up with his brother in tow. Hiding behind him as if he isn't a giant towering over both of them.

Mark sighs, but smiles. How can he be mad? He can't, that's what. "No worries, let's just have fun."

He doesn't say anything cliche like the more the merrier — because even Yugyeom knows that he doesn't, and wouldn't, mean that with how he prefers smaller groups. Still, they have fun and it's worth it by the way Yugyeom beams when he's around his brother, and how eager he is to have him get to know Mark better. 

The night is perfect. They even go stargazing, and Mark celebrates internally when he hears soft snores coming from Yugyeom's brother's direction. 

They're quiet, but they don't need to fill the air with talk. It's a comfortable sort of silence. The kind of peace that Mark thinks he could live a good life with, and the kind he stubbornly wants to keep to himself. 

"Do you think the stars get lonely?" Yugyeom asks, wistful as he looks up at the stars, and Mark wonders how many people would think to ask that question. 

"Not sure. Why?" he says back, playing along because he wants to, unlike others who might roll their eyes and chide that stars don't feel anything at all.

"They look close, but they're really far from each other. Lightyears apart. If they get too close to each other they'd probably explode," Yugyeom muses, suddenly wishing he learned more about astronomy in high school.

"That's why we're lucky to be humans, not stars. We can be close," Mark says without filtering his thoughts through the usual strainer, and Yugyeom rewards his recklessness with a smile. 

"That's right hyung, not close like us." 

Since Yugyeom is looking up at the stars, Mark can look at him. 

Mark says, quietly, so low that no one can hear, "my treat."

—

Mark is well known now for speeding out of work once it's done, but today he's definitely set a new record. One blink later and he's in the first car out — but he's not heading home. He's headed to a rice soup restaurant, and then an apartment near his that he's sure he's spent more than half of his time in since they both moved out of the dorm.

He hears a low, questioning, moan once he opens the door (because he knows the keycode by now, of course). "Maaaark?" 

Yugyeom sounds delirious and feverish. Mark rushes to his room, emitting uncharacteristic soothing noises as he checks his temperature with the back of his hand. Mark runs cold but still, Yugyeom's burning hot. 

"I don't feel so good," Yugyeom burbles, and Mark frets, running to dampen a cool cloth to wipe him down. Just their luck that the rest of Yugyeom's family would be midway through an international vacation the moment he fell sick. Yugyeom might act babyish, but he's remarkably good at keeping it in whenever he feels unwell. His love for dance, for performing, wins above all else. 

Except this. This is serious enough to leave him too weak to do anything other than shuffle and doze in and out of sleep. 

"Drink," Mark orders as he hands Yugyeom a bottle of water, and he gulps it down with both hands wrapped around it. 

"Thank you," he mumbles, and Mark shushes him, gentle. "Save your energy," he says he brushes his neck and collar down with the towel. Yugyeom shivers, but breathes out a sigh of relief and Mark knows that it's helping. He even guides him through eating, spooning him each bite, neither of them saying a word. 

Yugyeom doesn't need to ask Mark to stay. He simply clings to Mark's sleeve and Mark knows, changing into a spare set of Yugyeom's pajamas (they're huge; he swims in them) so that he can curl into bed next to him, not caring about the chance of catching whatever it is that Yugyeom has, or about the heat radiating off of Yugyeom's body.

"Cold," Yugyeom mutters despite how many thick comforters they're buried under, and Mark winds his arms tight around him, sweat beading on his forehead. But that doesn't matter. He holds him until he stops shaking, humming tunes that he remembers his mom singing to him when he used to be sick as a child.

They settle down, heartbeats loud in the quiet of the room. Yugyeom smushes his face against Mark's collar and mumbles something intelligible. 

"Huh?" Mark asks, drowsy now from the warmth and the exhaustion of the day catching up with him.

"I said," more intelligible noises as Yugyeom's face travels up to his neck. 

Mark grunts, eyelids fluttering, too tired to try and decipher sick Yugyeom speak. 

Then — lips against his, fever hot. 

Mark stares, dumbstruck. 

"My treat," Yugyeom grumbles, before curling into his hold and falling asleep like that wasn't just the greatest moment of Mark's life. Mark laughs to himself, a quick puff of air, and wonders how red Yugyeom's going to be the next morning when he reminds him of what he did. Maybe with some repeat performances. 

"Yeah," he hums, sinking into the warmth, feeling content down to the marrow of his bones, "yours."


End file.
